Just A Little Foot Rub...

Chanel stumbles through the door with her feet killing her. She drops on the couch and kicks off her shoes. Summer looks over, sees her roommate wincing, and offers to rub the ache out. Her hands start working the soles, slow and steady. Then it shifts—Chanel asks for more pressure higher up, calves first, those tight muscles melting under Summer’s fingers. Next come the shoulders, blouse pulled aside, skin warm and slick. Summer keeps the same even rhythm, but the air changes. Her palms slide lower than expected. Chanel bites her lip, hips twitching, no more excuses left. The foot rub turns into hands everywhere, clothes shoved down, mouths meeting hard, the couch creaking under them as one touch leads straight into another.